Instead he shook his head to clear it. “I’m sorry,” he said, and took a rough breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. A humorless laugh scraped in his throat. “I’m always apologizing to you.”

Her wrists relaxed in his hold. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Christopher wondered how the hell she could appear so composed. Aside from the stain of color in her cheeks, she showed no sign of unease. He had a quick, annoying sense of being managed. “I threw you to the floor.”

“Not intentionally.”

Her efforts to make him feel better were having the opposite effect. “Intentions don’t matter when you’ve been knocked over by someone twice your size.”

“Intentions always matter,” Beatrix said. “And I’m used to being knocked over.”

He let go of her hands. “This happens to you often?” he asked sardonically.

“Oh, yes. Dogs, children . . . everyone leaps on me.”

Christopher could well understand that. Leaping on her was the most pleasurable thing he’d done in years. “Being neither a dog nor a child,” he said, “I have no excuse.”

“The maid dropped a tray. Your reaction was perfectly understandable.”

“Was it?” Christopher asked bitterly, rolling off her. “I’ll be damned if I understand it.”

“Of course it was,” Beatrix said as he helped her up from the floor. “For a long time you’ve been conditioned to dive for cover every time a shell or canister exploded, or a bullet was fired. Just because you’ve come back home doesn’t mean that such reflexes can be easily discarded.”

Christopher couldn’t help wondering . . . Would Prudence have forgiven him so quickly, or reacted with such self-possession?

His face darkened as a new thought occurred to him. Did he have any right to go to Prudence, when his behavior was so unpredictable? He couldn’t put her at risk. He had to gain control over himself. But how? His reflexes were too strong, too fast.

At Christopher’s prolonged silence, Beatrix went to Albert and bent to pet him. The dog rolled on his back, offering his tummy.

Christopher straightened his clothes and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Will you reconsider your decision?” Beatrix asked. “About letting me take Albert?”

“No,” Christopher said brusquely.

“No?” she repeated, as if his refusal were inconceivable.

Christopher scowled. “You needn’t worry about him. I’ve left the servants specific instructions. He will be well cared for.”

Beatrix’s face was taut with indignation. “I’m sure you believe so.”

Nettled, he snapped, “I wish I took the same enjoyment in hearing your opinions that you take in airing them, Miss Hathaway.”

“I stand by my opinions when I know I’m right, Captain Phelan. Whereas you stand by yours merely because you’re stubborn.”

Christopher gave her a stony stare. “I will escort you out.”

“Don’t bother. I know the way.” She strode to the threshold, her back very straight.

Albert began to follow, until Christopher commanded him to come back.

Pausing at the threshold, Beatrix turned to give Christopher an oddly intent stare. “Please convey my fondness to Audrey. You both have my hopes for a pleasant journey to London.” She hesitated. “If you wouldn’t mind, please relay my good wishes to Prudence when you see her, and give her a message.”

“What is it?”

“Tell her,” Beatrix said quietly, “that I won’t break my promise.”

“What promise is that?”

“She’ll understand.”

Precisely three days after Christopher and Audrey had left for London, Beatrix went to the Phelans’ house to ask after Albert. As she had expected, the dog had set the household into chaos, having barked and howled incessantly, ripped carpeting and upholstery to shreds, and bitten a footman’s hand.

“And in addition,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Clocker, told Beatrix, “he won’t eat. One can already see his ribs. And the master will be furious if we let anything happen to him. Oh, this is the most trying dog, the most detestable creature I’ve ever encountered.”

A housemaid who was busy polishing the banister couldn’t seem to resist commenting, “He scares me witless. I can’t sleep at night, because he howls fit to wake the dead.”

The housekeeper looked aggrieved. “So he does. However, the master said we mustn’t let anyone take Albert. And as much as I long to be rid of the vicious beast, I fear the master’s displeasure even more.”

“I can help him,” Beatrix said softly. “I know I can.”

“The master or the dog?” Mrs. Clocker asked, as if she couldn’t help herself. Her tone was wry and despairing.

“I can start with the dog,” Beatrix said in a low undertone.

They exchanged a glance.

“I wish you could be given the chance,” Mrs. Clocker murmured. “This household doesn’t seem like a place where anyone could get better. It feels like a place where things wane and are extinguished.”

This, more than anything, spurred Beatrix into a decision. “Mrs. Clocker, I would never ask you to disobey Captain Phelan’s instructions. However . . . if I were to overhear you telling one of the housemaids where Albert is being kept at the moment, that’s hardly your fault, is it? And if Albert manages to escape and run off . . . and if some unknown person were to take Albert in and care for him but did not tell you about it immediately, you could not be blamed, could you?”